#dissipou-se

[dissipo]

seria cômico se não fosse tão trágico a forma que encerramos as conexões feitas durante a vida. começamos como dois estranhos e terminamos igual no começo.

— dissipou-se

[sabrinarismos]

A vida é repleta de naufrágios. Todos os dias é um titanic batendo em um iceberg, e milhares de vidas são perdidas dentro de mim. Essas vidas são as coisas que deixei de gostar; são os amores que abandonei; são as ausências pendentes; são os sentimentos que me recusei a corresponder. Até que a minha vida se esgote de vez, muitos óbitos irão ser confirmados.

— dissipou-se

[energiologue]

LE PARDON ET L’AMOUR DE SOI OFFRENT UN NIVEAU DE GUÉRISON SUPÉRIEUR

. . VOUS POUVEZ ENTENDRE CE TEXTE EN CLIQUANT SUR LE LIEN CI-DESSUS . Avez-vous quelqu’un dans votre vie dont vous aimeriez vous détacher énergétiquement, mais peu importe le nombre de fois que vous essayez de couper les cordons qui vous relient à cette personne, cela ne fonctionne pas pendant un certain temps ? Saviez-vous que le pardon est un processus énergétique qui permet à cette…

[psychoticwillgraham]

chloe definitely senses something coming bc she’s sleeping at my feet and spread out to the point where I have to bend my legs in order to fit on the bed, and she only does this when a big storm is coming. she also pokes her head out ocassionally from under the covers and stares out the window. she’s honestly starting to worry me bc she must sense that shit’s about go south weather wise, and it’s like she’s trying to protect me or something.

[roguelov]

Birthmark

Summary: Miguel discovered something he never noticed before on you: a birthmark, one specifically on your lower back side. At a single glance, a primal feeling started to burn inside of him. And there was only one way to satiate him.

Word Count: ~2.5k

Reader: Afab (no fem pronouns used)

Warnings: SMUT (unprotected sex, doggy style, fingering, pull out/cumming on backside, voyeurism, manhandling, possessiveness, minor blood), some fluff, established relationship

MINORS DNI/18+ ONLY

The world drifted away, lost and nearly forgotten, as music poured out of your headphones. The soft luminance of the sun peered through the windows, wishing to greet everyone, to kiss their cheeks with its warm light on this early weekend morning. The simple apartment space was filled with an assortment of things - both the necessary to the unnecessary but well loved trinkets - to call it a shared home.

You weaved around the living room, delicately walking to not to disturb your sleeping partner in the bedroom a short distance away. It was one of those days, a day of waking up and wanting to clean the place. It wasn’t exactly dirty per se, but it was dusty and needed a little more care.

Off in the bedroom, behind the cracked door with the blinds still shut, a body laid sprawled out on the bed - the body of an overworked Miguel. The steady rise and fall of his chest stuttered. The even rhythm broke as consciousness slowly took hold. It wasn’t any noise that disturbed him. No. It was the lack of presence. It was the lack of your warmth, the lack of your arms wrapped around his waist, the lack of your soft breathing against his skin.

He craved it - needed it to always have a well rested night of sleep.

A low exhausted groan tumbled off his lips as he rolled over. He pushed himself up, and hunched forward on the edge of the bed. He sighed loudly. He rubbed the back of his neck at a small stiff ache. The world and all of its sensations slowly poured over him. The first to return was sound. His ears perked up. Out in the living room, you sang quietly under your breath.

A smile cracked onto his tired face.

Standing up, and stretching a bit, he shuffled out of the bedroom. He opened the door, and the world greeted him. Basking in the sunlight, you glowed this morning. He leaned into the doorway, watching you with a loving, tender gaze.

The living room was cluttered with cleaning supplies: a vacuum with its long cords snaking around, a duster tossed onto the table along with a rag and cleaning spray, and lastly an unlit candle for later to fill the air with such sweet aromas. Unaware of Miguel’s presence, you continued to sing softly and only a few words at a time. You moved around with a certain grace, you were guided by the music and bounced to the beat as you cleaned.

Miguel’s smile grew.

How did you become a part of his life? He almost didn’t deserve you, or so he believed. You were a beacon of light and life.

Of love.

He chuckled once, unable to contain his joy.

Still lost in your task, you bent forward, picking up a blanket randomly tossed onto the floor from the night before.

Instantly, Miguel’s laughter seized. Confusion, and something else, settled into his chest.

What -

You, however, stood upright again. His eyes narrowed trying to comprehend what he saw. He definitely saw something, he knew he did. But, what exactly was it? Well, technically he saw two things; two things which made his chest clench and his heart skip just a tad faster. Firstly, you weren’t wearing any underwear underneath your plain cotton shorts. But, there was something else. Something he never noticed before.

And he was intrigued and determined to know.

Walking up behind you, he placed a hand on your hip. You jumped, startled by his sudden appearance. Dropping the blanket, you spun around only for your minor panic to dissipate. You laughed and smiled at him. Your headphone slid off your head and dangled around your neck.

“Well, good morning to you too,” you cheekily said.

“What was that?”

Your face scrunched in confusion. “What was what?”

Miguel’s lips thinned. He turned his head, almost grumbling. His skin started to flush, and he strangely felt embarrassed. A little odd given the few months you had now been living together. “I … I saw something … like - like …”

You raised an eyebrow. Twisting your around, you searched over your body and clothes. “What? Is there a stain somewhere? A hole? A tear?”

“No,” he groaned, rolling his eyes more so at himself. Why couldn’t he say it? “Something here.”

He tentatively reached over. With a single finger, he very gently grazed over one of your bottom cheeks. Your eyes instantly dropped down to his finger. You blinked, still baffled by his odd behavior. You didn’t see a stain, it was just your shorts. Then it clicked. Realization flooded over your features, smoothing out the confused crease between your brows.

You cocked your head, trying to bite back your growing amusement, “Are you talking about my birthmark?”

“Birthmark?” He repeated, confused.

“Yeah, my birthmark.” You chuckled. “I thought you had seen it before, or I at least told you about it.”

Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. He couldn’t recall, but this certainly all felt like news to him.

“I don’t remember,” he mumbled.

“Well, yeah it’s always been there.” You picked up the blanket again. You kept your back to him as you refolded it. “I swore I told you before, it’s why I can’t wear certain things out. If I wear cotton shorts and they ride up, you’ll probably see it. The same goes for certain swimsuit bottoms. And if I wear white bottoms then there is a chance you’ll see it through depending on the fabric.”

As you started to move around again, placing the blanket into a basket beside the couch, Miguel’s eyes dropped. It was as if he was trying to burn a hole through your shorts to see it again - to see it properly.

Something was stirring inside of him, something he didn’t quite fully understand yet. He stepped forward. He wanted to see it, he needed to see it. His hands grabbed your hips, stopping you in place.

You jokingly rolled your eyes and smiled to yourself. He was certainly handsy this morning.

Was it handsy, or needy? Needy, yes. But, it wasn’t in the sweet innocent way you initially assumed. He wasn’t needy in the way he always wanted to close by, or comforted by having you in his grasp.

Oh no, you greatly miscalculated.

You snorted, “Can I help you -“

A gasp left your lips. Miguel had forcibly grabbed the bottom fabric of your shorts and yanked it up. His eyes immediately locked onto the birthmark - the very obvious birthmark that was nearly centered on your one cheek.

There it was. Plain as day.

You twisted your upper body, and quickly latched a hand around his wrist. Now, it was your turn to get flustered and embarrassed. “Okay, okay, you saw it, can you let go now?”

His eyes flickered up.

Oh. Oh no.

Your breath hitched, and your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach.

His usual crimson eyes - the color of crisp ripe apples in the height of a chilly autumn, or the color of a bright lush rose given in secret to a lover - was gone. His pupils were blown wide, the darkness overtaking the lovely shade of red. They were black like the shirt of a priest who you should be praying with; they were black like the night where no one can see what sins were unfolding.

His thumb pressed firmly into your ass, into your birthmark.

“Miguel,” you whispered softly as your heart ticked faster and faster.

He dropped his head, nuzzling his face into your neck. His lips slowly brushed over your neck. You shivered. Ever so slowly, your initial surprise melted away. You lolled your head to the side, granting him more access. He always had this effect on you. One look, one touch, and soon you were putty in his hands.

Oh, he was losing himself. He didn’t know why, but this discovery riled him up. Maybe because this was like a secret, a secret only he was privy to.

His lovely little secret.

He groaned softly. His heart beat faster as he fell into this near animalistic passion - a primal frenzy. His talons slowly came out. He couldn’t - and wouldn’t - hold himself back any longer. One of his talons scraped over the birthmark.

You gasped at the minor spark of pain.

He smirked, and began to teasingly kiss your neck. A pepper of butterfly kisses that quickly shifted to heated opened mouth attacks as he bit and sucked on your now sensitive skin. He cupped your ass, giving it a rough, hard squeeze.

“Mine,” he murmured lowly into your neck.

One word.

One simple word.

And hell - all those forbidden yet heavenly sins locked away - was unleashed.

It happened all so quickly. He yanked you towards his chest. Lips collided. Tongues swirled together, drawing out beautiful sounds from each of you. Hands roamed over every curve and muscle. You were desperate for each other. You both always stoked such burning desires, such all consuming fires.

The next thing you knew, your shorts were pulled down and kicked aside along with Miguel’s sweatpants. You were immediately bent over the couch as Miguel finally slipped his cock inside your dripping folds.

You tried to hold back the obnoxiously loud cry of pleasure. Your forehead buried into your folded arms, which was supported by the backside of the couch. Your nails dug crescent shapes along your biceps.

Miguel sighed, tipping his head forward. He was panting heavily, unable to control him. God, you always drove him into such a state. He couldn’t think, he could only drown himself in the overwhelming and wondrous sensation of you. His hands happily - and downright couldn’t resist - kneaded and played with your ass. He squeezed harshly, and watched as your pliable fat pooled between his needy fingers.

Good lord.

He soon swore a string of curses under his breath in Spanish. He wanted to roll his eyes back. He wanted to completely lose himself. But, he also wanted to watch. So, he did. He watched hungrily as he pounded into you. Most importantly, he watched his thumb continue to dig fiercely into your birthmark.

A moan hummed in the back of your throat.

His eyes sparkled with such sinful delight. It was like a secret button. His secret button. His talon teasingly traced the shape of it. Then his thumb pushed further into your birthmark, enjoying the sounds you were making. He shuddered. Fueled by your responsiveness, he felt his fangs elongate as he moaned. Oh, he wanted to bite it, he wanted to mark it. Dare he say, he wanted to carve his initial into it.

His.

All his.

He gripped your hips harshly, digging his talons into your skin. Small pricks of blood swelled up under his deathly grip. Bruises and sores would most definitely appear later. He picked up his pace. It was sloppy and ruthless. The sounds were so loud, and so delightful: his hips slapping into your ass, his thick cock pummeling into you, his low groans mixing with your more high pitched ones.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, letting out a muffled whine. You buried your face into your arms, trying to silence how loud you were becoming. Desperate and needy, you soon grinded back into him, meeting his pace.

Miguel hissed, “Ah, cariño, nuevamente. Again, do that again.”

You obeyed without hesitation. You pushed back into him, moaning as his cock stretched you further. Your walls greedily clamped around him, sending him into a frenzy.

He moaned, and nearly slumped forward. He paced one hand on the backside of the couch, keeping himself upright. While, his other hand wrapped firmly around your hips. His hot breath fanned over your sweaty neck. Growling, he was furiously humping into you.

Your eyes rolled back. Fuck. You loved when he was like this, when he used you. You loved when he let himself go. And the best and worst thing was you wouldn’t last much longer. He was deliciously relentless.

You moaned, “Miguel -“

“I know,” he gritted his teeth. His voice rumbled near your ear. You shivered. Your walls fluttered around him. You were quickly nearing your end. And he knew it. “Let go, please. Oh, please, let me feel it.”

He uprighted himself, and gripped your hips again. You tried to match his pace, you tried to keep up, but you couldn’t. He mercilessly pounded into you. He moved your hips for you, he knew what you wanted and needed.

And that was it.

In a few more thrust, you cried out, gushing around him. Miguel swiftly pulled out. You whined. Yet, two of his fingers quickly plunged back inside. Your disappointment melted away as you moaned out again. Your mind went fuzzy in absolute pleasure. He kept pumping into you, overworking you. You squirmed as your legs began to shake.

“Miguel,” you mumbled, almost like a sob.

“Shhh, I know, I got you.”

With his other hand, he started to pump himself. Feeling you around his fingers, hearing your whines and delightful wet noises of his fingers slipping in and out of you, seeing your body shake with overstimulation, he spilled all over your backside.

“Fuck, Miguel,” you weakly hissed out.

He laughed once, a short breathy laugh. He pulled out his fingers. He paused for a moment, admiring your juices covering his fingers: the way it dripped down, the way it glistened in the light, and oh the way could feel his mouth water at the thought of tasting it.

And he had a little idea. An idea which had been stirring since the beginning.

He wiped his fingers clean over your ass, directly over your birthmark.

You groaned softly, still slumped forward over the couch. You focused more on trying to catch your fleeting breath. Your body still buzzed from the wondrous aftermath. Sighing deeply, you closed your eyes, thinking it was finally over.

Until something swiped across your ass. Specifically, Miguel’s tongue. Miguel licked up once, and cleaned up yours and his cum over your birthmark. He moaned at the taste. And, for an extra measure he teasingly, and gentle as he fangs would let him, nipped the birthmark.

Your body jolted at the sensation. A loud, almost pornographic, moan fell over your lips. “Jesus Christ,” you hissed.

He chuckled.

Miguel carefully stood you up, and turned you around. With still shaky legs, you completely fell into his chest exhausted. He wrapped an arm around your waist to support you. His smile softened, seeing the state he had brought you to. With his free hand, he gently cupped your cheek, and placed a chaste kiss on your lips.

You hummed softly, and gave him a tired lopsided smile.

“Let’s clean you up,” Miguel whispered. His finger traced down your cheek, and along your jaw. He tipped your chin up. His lips brushed over yours again. His sweetness then vanished. A devious smirk crossed on his lips. His hand fell from your waist, and squeezed your ass again. “I’m still not done with you yet.”

[childrenofcain-if]

Hello beautiful Author!! I hope u are doing well! So basically I am a religious follower of your blog and uuugghh!!! This story is so beautifully crafted like the script the writing style the plot even the characters seem larger than life. Honestly u have my tremendous respect and admiration.... Also I am totally in love with cedric!! angsty adorable and hot. So since today is my birthday I decided to treat myself to a snippet ... Can u please write a fluff scene where in the future after marriage yk after C achieved his dream how would M!C react to find out that F!MC is pregnant. What kind of dad would he be and how would he handle the news especially if it's a girl. (PS: I love you okay? U rock!!! ❤❤😘)

the morning started like most mornings did in your household. the sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of your manhattan penthouse, muted by the heavy curtains cédric insisted on keeping drawn just enough to keep the room from feeling exposed.

he was already in the kitchen when you woke up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose as he frowned at his ipad.

it was a weekday, which meant cédric was doing what cédric did best: handling things.

the man could command a room full of board members or negotiate a multi-billion-dollar deal, but he always took his mornings slow, like it was his personal rebellion against the world which demanded his attention. the smell of coffee hung thick in the air, and you could hear him muttering under his breath—half in french, half in english—as he skimmed over some report.

he looked up when he heard your footsteps. the cold glint in his pale green eyes softened the way they always did when he saw you.

“good morning, mon amour,” he said, setting the ipad down as if the numbers and charts weren’t important anymore.

you smiled at him, but there was a nervous flutter in your chest that didn’t quite dissipate.

“good morning,” you greeted back, making your way to the counter. “we need to talk.”

his brow furrowed, just slightly, in that way that meant his mind was already cataloging possible scenarios. you wondered if he was running through a mental checklist: a problem at work, an overdue bill, a delayed package. he was always looking for answers before you even finished your question.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, voice low and calm, but his hand twitched where it rested on the counter.

you hesitated, suddenly unsure how to say it. for someone who had spent years speaking in boardrooms and drafting persuasive arguments, the words felt clumsy in your throat.

“there’s nothing wrong, per se,” you began, and you saw the tension in his shoulders ease—just a fraction. “it’s just... i’m pregnant.”

the silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. it was like the air had stilled, waiting for his reaction.

cédric blinked. once, twice. then he stepped back, leaning against the counter as if the weight of your words had hit him square in the chest. his mouth opened, then closed again. he looked—if you hadn’t known him better—younger. like a boy caught off guard, unsure of whether he was allowed to feel what he was feeling.

“you’re...?” he started, and then he stopped himself. his hand went to his hair, brushing the dark brown strands back, a nervous habit he’d never managed to shake. “you’re sure?”

you nodded, suddenly shy. “i took three tests. all positive. i was going to wait until we were both home later tonight, but—”

“no, no, now is perfect,” he interrupted, his voice sharper than he intended, like he was scolding you for even considering keeping it from him. he shook his head, and you could see the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “mon dieu.”

cédric laughed then, a sound so rare and so unguarded it made your chest ache. it was a laugh of disbelief, of joy, of sheer and unrestrained emotion. he crossed the kitchen in two long strides and pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly you could feel his heart pounding against your ribs.

“je t’aime,” he murmured into your hair. “je t’aime, je t’aime, je t’aime.”

you clung to him, laughing through the tears that had started spilling down your cheeks.

***

cédric’s reaction to the pregnancy didn’t end that morning. over the next few weeks, he threw himself into preparing for the baby with the same intensity he brought to his work. he was meticulous, obsessive even, researching everything from cribs to car seats. he vetoed three potential pediatricians before you’d even had a chance to meet them, insisting that only the best would do.

but it wasn’t just about the logistics. cédric was unexpectedly tender, in a way that made your heart twist. he read parenting books in bed at night, one hand on your growing belly as he absently stroked his thumb over the fabric of your pajamas. he brought you tea without being asked, stocked the pantry with your favorite snacks, and refused to let you carry anything heavier than a shopping bag.

when you found out the baby was a girl, it felt like the world completely shifted for him.

“it’s a girl,” you had informed him, holding the ultrasound picture out to him.

he took it from your hands carefully, as if it were made of glass, and stared at it for a long moment. his expression was unreadable, but you could see the way his fingers trembled, just slightly.

“a daughter,” he said, the words thick in his throat. “our daughter.”

you nodded with a small smile, watching him carefully. “how do you feel about that?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he set the picture down on the table and turned to you, his eyes burning with an intensity that made you shiver.

“i’m going to protect her,” cédric said, his voice low and fierce. “from everything. from everyone. she’ll never have to wonder if she’s loved. she’ll never have to fight for what’s hers.”

“i can already see it,” you teased gently, trying to lighten the mood. “you’ll be the dad who scares off all her partners.”

“damn right i will,” he said, his smile returning. “she’s going to know her worth. and if anyone tries to undermine that—” he didn’t finish the sentence, but the murderous look in his eyes said enough.

you leaned forward, cupping his cheek and drawing him back to you. “she’ll know her worth because of you,” you said softly. “because of how much you’ll love her.”

“and her mother,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper.

he kissed you then, slow and lingering, and when he pulled back, his hands settled gently over your stomach.

you reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “she’s going to be so lucky to have you.”

cédric shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “no,” he said softly, his gaze dropping to your belly. “i’m the lucky one.”

***

as the months went on, cédric proved himself to be everything you’d hoped for and more. he was attentive to a fault, sometimes to the point of driving you mad with his insistence on helping you. ehen the baby kicked for the first time, he was right there, his hand pressed against your stomach, his eyes wide with wonder.

when your due date finally arrived, he was the calmest one in the delivery room. he held your hand through every contraction (even when you almost broke his bones), whispered words of encouragement in your ear, and refused to leave your side, even when the nurses told him to give you space.

and when your daughter was finally born, cédric was the first to hold her, much to your father’s exasperation. he cradled her tiny, wrinkled body in his arms, his expression soft and awestruck.

“she’s perfect,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks.

you smiled, exhausted but deliriously happy. “she has your eyes.”

“and a head full of your hair,” he said, his voice breaking.

in that moment, you knew without a doubt that he would be the kind of father who would move mountains for his daughter. he would be firm but fair, protective but not overbearing, and endlessly devoted to her happiness.

as he rocked her gently, humming a lullaby under his breath, you realized that this—your little family—was everything you’d ever wanted. and as much as you knew about how cédric wasn’t very good at expressing his emotions, it was clear as day right now that nothing would ever compare to the love he had for the two of you.

[mallowsweetmiri]

Bestfriend!Marauders with no boundaries accidentally make you sick and take care of you

some comfort fluff marauders content because the election is actually giving me existential dread and anxiety lol.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

There was nothing worse than getting sick. Actually, there was something worse. There was your best friends testing out an experimental prank, which resulted in a magical fungus puffing you with its spores, that led to you developing a serious cold. And the worst part is, they begged you not to go to the hospital wing.

"We're so sorry Y/N," James frowned, covering his face with his shirt and brushing the specks off of your hair.

"Please, forgive us," Sirius pleaded, also covering his mouth from the spores. "But you can't tell Madam Pomfrey. She'll give us another month of detention and we have something big planned next month." You coughed through the dissipating cloud and sneezed before glaring daggers at Sirius.

"Why can't I just tell her I ran into this thing outside? I won't mention you dreadful lot," you grumbled, pushing James' hand away from your hair and doing it yourself. He frowned even more and stepped back with his eyes on his feet.

"Well, the thing is," Peter chuckled nervously, "there technically wouldn't be any of those around the grounds. Because, well, it's not exactly, legal, per se." Peter finished off his rambling and looked at anything but you. You whined in frustration and sneezed again. These idiots had somehow acquired an off the market plant in order to pull off god knows what kind of prank. It was only your luck that you would be walking into the room just as Peter was exiting with the plant, causing a collision that ended with spores being dispersed directly into your sinuses. Remus could see your frustration at their idiocracy and stepped forward, although he was still covering his mouth with his shirt.

"Dove, I know you're upset, and you should be. It was very irresponsible for us to have that in the dorm at all, " Remus raised his brows and looked at the three boys behind him. They all nodded their heads in shame. "And you're being such an angel by not going to the hospital wing," He looked back at them again and the three boys nodded fervently, mumbling praises and compliments to you. "So let us take care of you, Y/N. I promise we'll make it up to you." You could almost see his charming smile through his shirt and you rolled your eyes in defeat. James' smile spread all the way to his eyes as he enthusiastically stepped forward.

"Yes, just let us take care of you," he grinned, grabbing your elbow with his free hand and guiding to you the door. "First order of business, airing out this room so we don't all get sick. Let's go get some fresh air while Pete and Sirius clean things up in here." There were sounds of protest but James was already leading you down the stairs, continuing to dust any residue off of your hair and shirt. Remus followed behind, fanning out the trail of dust James was leaving. Once the three of you finally reached the common room, James sat you down on a couch and promptly removed his "mask" beginning to feel your forehead and cheeks.

"Okay, okay," you chuckled, gently moving his doting hands off your face. "I'm not that sick. I've only got a little cough and sniffles." James looked back at Remus with deep concern, which Remus returned. Your eyebrows furrowed together.

"Well, dove. Peter actually said that the spore would make the victim extremely ill. Fever, congestion, and a terrible cough," Remus said compassionately, giving you a look of pity as he rested his hand on your leg to break the news. You looked at him with exasperation as you let out a cry which subsequently made you cough. James let out a huff of sadness as he moved to embrace you into his lap, swaying you as you groaned at your circumstances.

"We're so sorry, Y/N," James whispered, petting your hair with his hand. He then looked up to Remus and added, "I hope it's not contagious."

Within the next twenty minutes of waiting for Sirius and Peter, you got significantly worse. At first it was the sneezing, but soon your body fell into terrible chills. Remus got you water and helped you drink while James had taken off his sweatshirt and promptly placed it over you, the material swallowing your frame. By the time Sirius bounded down the stairs to tell you the room was clean, you had snot blocking your airways. James didn't say a word as he scooped you up and carried you up the stairs.

"Is she doing okay?" Sirius asked, his voice dripping in concern as he peeked over James shoulder to catch a glimpse of you. Remus shook his head and pat Sirius on the back as they followed you to the dorm. James placed you in his bed, where Peter was already fluffing up the pillows and opening the covers for you to slip under.

"Oh, Y/N," Peter murmured, tucking your body under the covers and fussing with the pillows. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have been so careless. This was a terrible, terrible idea." You shook your head and placed you hand on his arm to stop him.

"No," you croaked, pausing to clear your throat, "It's okay Peter. What's done is done. Could you maybe bring me some tea and biscuits, please?" You gave him puppy eyes, but you hardly think you needed them. Peter was already halfway out the door and on his way to the kitchens. Remus went to the bathroom to dampen a washcloth, and both Sirius and James took seats on the edge of the bed. James lightly massaged your temples, causing you to sigh in relief. You could feel Sirius pouting and he looked severely distraught, almost to the point of tears.

"Siri," you sniffled, reaching out for his hand. He grabbed it gently and let out a choked sob.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he whimpered. You shushed him and squeeze his hand.

"Siri, it's okay. You don't have to apologize for anything. It was an accident," you reassured him. He nodded but looked away from you. You were certain he was crying, and you knew it had to do with his remaining guilt of the prank™. Before you could sit up to comfort him further, his form shifted to Padfoot, and he quietly nuzzled his way into your lap, rubbing his snout gently into your chest. You huffed out a smile and relaxed into the bed, looking up at James who had a light smile on his face. Remus came back and placed the damp washcloth on your head.

"Hey, Pads," Remus whispered as he pat the dog on his head. Padfoot huffed but remained with his head on your chest, your hand stroking him rhythmically. James did the same but to your cheek, his eyes glued to your face as he watched with concern for any signs of discomfort. After a while, Remus had settled in his bed next to yours, reading a book quietly as Sirius and James stayed on your bed, both in an attempt to comfort you. It was quite working, and after a few minutes, you were dozing off to sleep. It was unfortunate that your body jolted awake after choking on a wet cough. You startled Padfoot as your body jolted up, followed by a honking cough that cut through your throat. You groaned as you head pounded with pressure.

"Water," you croaked, scrambling to sit up. Sirius jumped off the bed and transformed quickly, coming forward to help you sit up.

"Oh, darling," Sirius cooed, using his hands to shift your body into a sitting position. He took the water from Remus and brought it your mouth slowly. You cautiously took a sip and let out a sigh of relief. You went in for a second sip but your lungs had other plans, sputtering up a cough as you tried to sip. This caused all three boys to instantly take the water away and begin doting over you, patting your back and wiping the water off your chin. Peter entered the room to the chaotic scene.

"Oh merlin," Peter said hurriedly, setting his tray down on the bedside table. You waved your hands as you went through your fit of coughing.

"I'm fine," you swallowed, laying back against the headboard. You heard sighs as the boys bodies slouched in relief. "Biscuits?" you smiled sheepishly, only mildly embarrassed of the disgusting noises you had been making. Peter grinned and brought them over to you.

"M'lady," he held the tray out for you to take one. As you reached for one to bring to your mouth, Remus tutted.

"Slowly," he said with a warning brow raised. You rolled your eyes and brought the cookie to your open mouth at a comedically slow speed, causing Sirius and James to sputter down a laugh. Remus rolled his eyes right back but smiled when you finally bit into the cookie. Not a single boy left your side as they continued to feed you tea and cookies until the plate was empty. You let out a yawn and had James instantly at his trunk.

"I'm going to wrap you up now," James said, matter of factly as he brought a blanket towards you. "Time for sleep." You tried to protest but your body betrayed you as another yawn met your lips. James hummed as he wrapped the blanket around you, using his sheer strength to lift you body and place you back into a laying position as if you were a doll. At some point, Padfoot had gone back to dog form and was once again nuzzle his way next to your body. You gladly patted his ears as he settled down, and closed your eyes as James leant down to kiss your forehead. Remus began to close the bed shades as Peter took the now finished food tray away.

"Sleep well, Y/N," Remus whispered, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

"Just tap Padfoot if you need something," James smiled, closing the curtains on his side. "Merlin, that is the cutest thing I've ever seen."

"Thanks boys," you murmured as darkness swept over the bed. You let out a sigh of content as you gently pet Padfoot. Maybe being sick wasn't the worst thing in the world after all.

[hansolsticio]

solie mente vazia é oficina do diabo e por isso eu estava pensando aqui aqui 💭💭💭💭 seungcheol no começo de um relacionamento e na hora do sexo ele tem um pouco de medo pelo fato dele se grandao (em todos os sentidos) e por ser forte dms (🤤🤤) ele tem medo de machucar a reader e acaba sempre fazendo um amorzinho baunilha e um dia ele escuta ela no telefone com a amiga q está cansada de ser tratada igual boneca de porcelana e depois disso o homem vira o cão na cama

baita plot bom, rai [🫦]

— 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗮𝘀: queria ele puto comigo... (eu dei um salto nos fatos por ser mais tranquilo de desenvolver, mas ainda mantive todas as circunstâncias que você falou) — 𝗮𝘃𝗶𝘀𝗼𝘀: size kink (big dick cheollie), dumbfication, sexo desprotegido, palavrões demais e degradação.

"E o quê eu sou? Repete.", as palavras foram praticamente rosnadas no seu ouvido. O tempo que você levou para interpretá-las foi muito maior que o usual, o raciocínio estava lento, quase inexistente. A cabecinha usava todos os neurônios para tentar fechar as pernas fracas, mal sabia como ainda se mantinha em pé, talvez por estar agarrada ao braço de Seungcheol como se sua vida dependesse disso. "Não. Abre os olhos.", o comando veio acompanhado de uma mão balançando o seu rostinho. Droga, tinha certeza que eles estavam abertos uns instantes atrás — é difícil focar em tanta coisa ao mesmo tempo.

"Eu não... não consigo.", choramingou. Não sabia o que não 'conseguia', se referia à basicamente tudo.

"Consegue.", refutou. "Você mesma disse que aguenta, não foi o que você falou?", a estabilidade na voz não combinava com o jeito que os dedos abriam sua entradinha sem dó. O som molhadinho foi encoberto por mais um gemidinho dengoso seu. Não aguentaria gozar mais uma vez. Não, não. As coxas já estavam encharcadas, Cheol ia te fazer desmaiar. "Me responde quando eu te perguntar alguma coisa, amor. É a última vez que te aviso."

"Desculpa. Me desculpa.", agarrou-se mais ao braço dele, as perninhas tremiam. Ouviu um suspiro desapontado e sentiu uma pontinha de culpa, não gostava de decepcionar seu Cheollie.

"Cê sabe que eu detesto fofoca, amor. Por quê que não falou diretamente comigo, hein?", te olhou questionandor a medida que diminuía a velocidade das estocadas. Já você, aproveitou o ritmo mais lento para respirar.

"Não sei.", arfou.

"Sabe. Sabe sim.", refutou de novo, o polegar desenhando círculos apertadinhos no seu clitóris. O abdômen se apertou, tentando expulsar a sensação insuportável. "Diz, princesa. Por quê?"

"Você ia- Cheol, porra... ia dizer não 'pra mim.", os dígitos se ondularam lá no fundo, sua entradinha espasmou.

"E por quê eu ia dizer não, amor? Qual o motivo?", franzia as sobrancelhas, falava manso como se tentasse explicar algo complicado a uma criancinha estúpida.

"Pra não machucar, Cheollie...", tentou se encolher nos braços dele, mas foi impedida de imediato. Sentia seu corpo sendo consumido por um desespero estranho, ia gozar, mas parecia estar completamente à deriva — só o olhar autoritário de Seungcheol não era suficiente para te manter no chão. "Mas não machuca. Eu... eu aguento, já disse que aguento.", choramingava e era muito contraditória.

Ele assistia suas pernas tremelicando, o corpo contrariava o que a mente fazia questão de impor. Mas se Seungcheol precisava te mostrar isso na prática, ele iria. Não importa o quanto tentasse esconder: tinha um ego gigantesco e ouvir a palavra "frouxo" juntamente ao nome dele na mesma frase havia sido um ataque muito mais eficaz do que ele gostaria que fosse. A paciência se dissipou, os dedos deixando seu interior de repente.

O corpo molinho não mostrou resistência ao ser colocado em cima do balcão que ficava ao lado da pia. Seungcheol inspecionou a bucetinha arruinada, cuspindo ali só para garantir. Você assistia a cena completamente zonza, os bracinhos se apoiando no mármore gelado atrás de você. As mãos fortes se livraram do aperto da calça, o tamanho intimidava 'pra caramba — por mais que você se fingisse de destemida. Era espesso e pesado da pontinha até a base, o inchaço ditava o quão cheinha você iria ficar assim que Cheol terminasse. Não ia caber, talvez escorresse.

Te abriu de uma vez só e você jura ter ouvido sua audição chiando. O gritinho ficou preso na garganta sendo substituído por um som surdo. Ardia, Seungcheol havia te aberto gostosinho com os dedos mais cedo, mas você definitivamente se sentia cheia. Era como se lotasse o seu corpo inteirinho, não adiantava se esforçar para sair — não que você quisesse. O buraquinho mal espasmava, sem conseguir lidar com a pressão. Cheol não impediu mais um suspiro desapontado — parecia fazer aquilo contra os próprios princípios, só para provar que estava certo.

"Princesa, é 'pra tirar?", soava preocupado, o jeitinho cuidadoso não se esvaía de maneira alguma — ele realmente achava que iria acabar te quebrando sem querer. Você negou meio atordoada, os olhinhos apertados, murmurava uma série de 'eu aguento's.. teimosa até o último segundo. Seungcheol detestava teimosia.

Seu corpo tremeu numa estocada forte. Não conseguia nem racionalizar as sensações, as mãozinhas trêmulas arranhavam a superfície gelada, pois não havia onde se segurar. Olhou para baixo, a boca nem se fechava deixando arfares tímidos arranharem a garganta — a voz ainda estava presa, seu estado era patético.

Encarou o ponto onde vocês dois se conectavam. Nunca se acostumaria com o quão obsceno tudo era, Seungcheol te abria tanto... parecia prestes a te rasgar interinha. As dobrinhas da sua entrada acompanhavam os movimentos, apertando sempre que sentia ele sair de dentro de você — até nisso era gulosa.

"Olha 'pra mim.", ele murmurou, as mãos apertando o interior das suas coxas como alerta. E você tentou, jura que tentou, mas a cabecinha pervertida não conseguia tirar o foco do que acontecia no meio de vocês dois. Cheol precisou te agarrar pelo maxilar para finalmente conseguir o que queria.

O rosto austero nunca falhava em fazer sua bucetinha se melar toda — não curtia estressá-lo, mas era difícil sentir outra coisa que não fosse tesão quando ele te olhava desse jeito.

"Era isso que você queria?", socou com mais força e seu corpo retesou com o impacto. Dessa vez não deu para segurar o gemidinho desesperado. Ardia 'pra cacete e era uma delícia, você não sabia mais o que pensar. "Era, porra? Era isso?"

Os dígitos que comprimiam suas bochechas não te deixavam responder de maneira alguma. Cheol foi mais fundo e você sentiu seus olhos arderem, olhava-o cada vez mais estúpida, perdia-se entre gozar ou desmaiar — talvez os dois. Quase choramingou ao sentí-lo sair de repente, mas o aperto no seu rostinho ainda te impedia de muita coisa. Seungcheol te fez olhar para baixo novamente, a outra mão ocupada em te foder com três dedos sem resistência alguma.

"Olha o jeito que 'cê fica aberta, caralho. Acha mesmo que isso não vai machucar depois? Teimosa 'pra cacete.", tentava te dar lição de moral mesmo sabendo que sua cabecinha não processaria nada daquilo. Tudo o que fez foi se molhar mais, quase salivando ao ver o próprio buraquinho arruinado.

Seungcheol sentia a sanidade dele se esvaindo ao te ver tão burra. Você não aprendia mesmo. Logo foi arrematada num beijo bagunçado, mas cheio de tesão. Arranhava os braços fortes, deixando que ele domasse sua boquinha como bem quisesse. Ele te roubou até o último resquício de oxigênio, era obcecado por você — por todas as partes.

Seu sorrisinho molenga e completamente apaixonado quando ele te soltou fez Seungcheol quase esporrar ali mesmo. Se ele soubesse que você precisava ser quebrada para agir desse jeito talvez tivesse o feito muito antes. Novamente, entrou tão forte quanto da primeira vez, o pau escorrendo mais ainda ao sentir o quão quentinha e carente você estava.

Por um tempo, o baque surdo das peles se chocando foi a única coisa que ecoava através das paredes do cômodo. Você já havia se perdido completamente, o corpo ondulando a cada estocada. Choramingava, se babava inteirinha, não queria parar. Seungcheol agora te agarrava pelo cabelo, o outro braço enlaçava sua cintura para te impedir de cair para trás — não era preciso muita análise para notar que você havia sido reduzida a uma bonequinha de foda.

"Agora me responde: eu ainda sou frouxo, princesa?", sussurrou contra sua bochecha, a pergunta parecia retórica. "Fala, _____. Ou eu já te quebrei?", o uso totalmente irregular do seu nome te tirou da órbita desordenada que a sua cabeça fazia. Gastou os últimos neurônios funcionais que tinha para cavar mais fundo a própria cova:

"É... você é. Você-", soluçou. "Você 'tá fazendo tudo que eu quero, tá- Cheollie...'tá... porra, ah!", incoerente, Seungcheol quase não conseguiu te entender. Estúpida, estúpida, estúpida! O homem riu baixinho, mas o tremor do peito dele foi suficiente para te fazer tremer junto.

"Se ainda consegue falar é porque eu não quebrei de verdade...", ele concluiu. Separou-se do seu corpo. "Ajoelha 'pra mim, princesa. Vou acabar com a sua boquinha também."

[superluver]

What was in the bag? G.S.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Wife!Reader

wc: 1516 | cw: Gojo is annoying, fem!Reader, Married, Pre established couple, mentions of bounty&death, FLUFF

Description: Gojo's students meet his wife without knowing it's his wife. Spoiler alert, they think you're his mom.

STARTING HERE

You weren’t really a secret per se.. more of underwraps.

Married to Satoru Gojo, strongest man alive in modern times, you were kind of on the radar for multiple things. Bounty’s on your head reaching over 600 million yen, though they’ve never actually gotten you.

And your daughter, it’s even worse. The highest you’ve heard of was 1 Billion yen, but as Satoru always tells you, he wouldn’t have married someone unable to take care of themselves. You were strong on your own, sure, not a special grade, but a high Grade 1.

You were more than capable of taking care of your family.

“Sora, ready to go?” You coo at her, looking down at her. She babbles in responde, kicking her legs and thrusting them up and down. It’s quite funny.

You are wearing a big hat, large sunglasses and a mask, your 5 month old daughter only wearing the hat and glasses. Her body facing your chest.

A large, garbage bag sits at the door. You recall Satoru texting you to bring it to the school because he forgot it, so with a sigh, you take it in your hand.

It’s heavy, but not unbearably so.

You embark on your journey to the school, which was only about two miles away if you walked, so it was nothing. The only thing concerning you at the moment would be the summer heat beating down on the two of you, wondering if it would be too hot for the small child, but you push on.

“Okay Sora, you have to be good.” You tell her, her big blue eyes staring into yours as you slip on her small glasses. Her hands go up to her face, trying to take them off, but you stop her. That’s when she begins to whine.

“Sora,” you sigh, pressing the hat further down your head. You want to chuckle at her pouty face, her white hair curling over the rim of her small sun hat. You step out of the house into the sun, the large trash bag in your hand. “We’re going to see Papa, but you need to be a good girl.” You tell her, your free hand patting her back, her front pressed onto you from the carrier she’s strapped to that brings you two together.

Immediately, her small whines stop. She looks up at you, her mouth slightly open. “Yes, your papa is at work, and we will visit him.” You tell her in a higher pitch, and she begins to babble out of happiness once more.

It’s been about thirty minutes, Sora taking a nap and you still holding the trash bag. You gain many stares, but you don’t seem to care.

Behind you, someone creeps up. You can feel an immense amount of cursed energy from him, causing you to tense up, and you’re sure Sora can feel it too as she begins to whine again.

“Excuse me?” The person begins, and you assume the person behind you is male from their tone. To turn around, eyebrows furrowed and free hand to your baby's head, pressing her further into you.

“You seemed to be struggling with the bag, so I—” he stammers, and you really look at him. No evil intentions, but that dangerous cursed energy coming from him alarms you.

He’s got pink hair, and a very child-like face. His hand is at the back of his head, scratching awkwardly. You take notice of his uniform, and all that tenseness dissipates. “Are you a Jujutsu Sorcerer?” You ask him, and his eyes go wide.

He shakes his head, hands thrown up. “No-! No, no! I’m— a student! From Sendai, I’m on my way to school!”

You deadpan, he’s clearly lying. Raising an eyebrow, you scoff, “Sendai? What are you doing here in Tokyo. And anyway,” you glance at his uniform, the head holding Sora’s head presses on one of the gold buttons, “I know a Jujutsu Sorcerer’s uniform when I see one. No need to lie, I’m one too.” You confess, finger to your lips(though they’re covered by the mask) like you just told him a secret.

“O-oh! I feel a little embarrassed now..” he tells you bashfully.

“Are you a first year?”

He blinks, nodding slow. “Yeah, I am.”

“Great! Where is Satoru Gojo?” You ask him, and again, he blinks. “I think… he went to get some dessert.”

You groan, readjusting your hat further down.

He leans down, taking the bag from you before stumbling from its weight.

‘She was carrying this!?’

He smiles, re-adjusting it in his hold, then thanking God for his strength.

“If it’s too heavy you can leave it on the ground.” You grumble, sitting under a tree on the stone ledge that surrounds it. The two of you sit under the shade, and Sora, now fully awake, is kicking her legs out. You pull her from the carrier, still facing you, you bounce her on your knee.

The two of you still adorned in your heavy disguises as another person comes by. A girl, wearing a Jujutsu Uniform, brown hair— though clearly dyed— cut into a cute bob. You chuckle, it reminds you of Shoko.

“What’s taking you so long— OHMYGOD!?” She shouts, staring at you. You probably scared her.. you think, but when she steps to you, kneeling to you and asking if you were a celebrity, sweat drops.

“Hm?”

“I'm asking if you’re a celebrity. A model? Maybe an actress.”

You find yourself laughing, shaking your head at her antics. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“A singer! See you have a very nice voice.”

Your head tilts, confused with a hint of embarrassment— though you end up laughing it off— it seems they don’t know who you are.

Sora, still in your arms, is again pressing her hands to her face, knocking her glasses off.

The girl, which you still haven't learned her name, bends down, picking up her glasses and when she leans back up, she sees Sora, looking down at her. Her big blue eyes staring back into the sorceress’ brown ones.

“Holy shit.” She murmurs, wordlessly giving you back her glasses. You stare puzzled, watching as she stands up and walks back to the other boy.

“That— that woman is Gojo’s MOM! She must've been hit by a curse that takes her to the future, because the baby she’s holding is a literal baby Gojo!” Nobara informs Yuuji in whisper, who shakes his head at her.

“No way,” he glances back at you and Sora, who is now tearing off her head revealing her snow white hair. She blinks at him, showcasing her beautiful eyes— identical to his teacher's— and he gapes.

“See! I told you!” She whispers back.

What they don’t realize is that their teacher is looming over them. “What’re you two whispering about?” He asks with a teasing grin, his hands in his pockets, around his arm is a paper bag of Kikufuku.

“Your mom!” Yuuji and Nobara tell him, pointing to the disguised woman. They still haven’t seen her face, but the baby was enough evidence for them.

Megumi stares at them like their idiots, even worse when he watches what his teacher and caretaker does next.

He glances at the woman, then smiling. “Mommy!” He shouts, walking up to her with a wave.

You look up and frown. His students stare at the supposed reunion with him and his mother, his hands to your face pulling off your glasses, then your hat, then ripping your mask off. The three are unable to see your face, though Megumi already knows what you look like.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips, then one to the top of the Sora’s head. Still, his students can’t see your face, but their faces are disgusted. “What the hell do you do with your mom?” They asked, Megumi glancing at them like they were stupid.

Satoru laughs, “That’s the beautiful Mommy of my child,” he tells them, watching them go from relaxed to pure shock.

“WHAT YOU DIDN’T TELL US?! AND YOU HAVE A KID?!"

“NO ONE KNEW?!”

“Megumi knew!” Satoru chirps, and the boy’s friends turned to him. “You knew he was married and didn’t say anything.”

“That guy has nothing to do with me.” Megumi tells them, rolling his eyes at his friends interrogating him.

They’re extremely loud, loud wnough to the poiny where tou’re getting embarrassed.

“Excuse me?” You speak up, and they all turn to you. Your face on full display, and this causes them to gape further. “Could you guys be just a little bit more—”

“HOW DID YOU BAG THAT GOJO-SENSEI?!” Nobara asks, pointing at you them him.

He laughs, throwing his head back at the chaos.

Megumi shakes his head, and you stand up, Sora back in the carrier. You take Megumi and walk off with a sigh, still able to hear their screams in the distance along with Satoru’s laughter.

“What was in the bag?” Megumi asks in a disinterested tone.

You, looking ahead, think about it before shrugging.

“No clue.”

[ultravioletrayz]

Hiiiii since u take nsfw requests, can I get one of FEM!reader pegging Miguel? I just need to see his tight hole pounded by his sweet girl's strap for a change. Thank you!

SO yummy omg.

Pairing: sub!miguel o’hara x dom!f!reader

Warnings: 18+, praise kink, prone bone, use of strap-on, anal (m. receiving)

Summary: you give miguel a well-deserved break

A/N: was weighing up making this mean dom or soft dom reader but opted for soft dom because migs is just a stressed little baby 🥺 (he's a 6'9, mutant adult man who could kick me so hard I fly into the sun and disintegrate)

Word Count: 831 (not proofread, probably some errors towards the end)

After a long, demanding day of work, all Miguel wanted was some kind of relief, which he immediately found in your embrace. Your touch, your scent, your smile, it all made Miguel feel at ease. Your presence allowed him to sink further into the mattress as you sit on top of his ass, your hands kneading and massaging the taut musculature of his broad shoulders. He couldn’t help the breathy moans leaving his plump lips as his muscles unravelled from their tense knots… and your hips pressed against his ass after a particularly deep thrust.

You pull your sparkly black strap-on almost all the way out so that the silicone is just kissing his puckered hole, before bottoming out once again in a slow, sensual rhythm that has Miguel mewling. His body lays flat against the bed, handsome face tucked away on top of his folded arms to muffle his pretty sounds, his heavy cock messily grinding against the plush mattress in time with your thrusts, the sheets damp and stained with cum and sweat.

“Así, mami. Se siente tan bien, tan jodidamente bien.” Miguel whimpers, lifting his hips up to meet your deep strokes with a choked whine. The sound of the lube squelching inside of his ass and both of your exasperated huffs make Miguel feel lightheaded, his renowned intellect becoming unintelligible babbling as the big dildo strapped to your stunning body stretches him out and drags against his tight walls. This moment with you, not worrying about his responsibilities or being in control, feels like heaven. Miguel has been craving a release, a way to force himself to escape the pressures of being a leader, and a protector. What better way than getting fucked by his pretty girl? (“Just like that, mommy. Feels so good, so fucking good.”)

With his fangs exposed, his claws tearing through the sheets, and throaty groans escaping from his lips, Miguel melts onto your cock. Miguel feels his stress dissipating with each thrust, your fat strap's bulbous head nuzzling his most sensitive, deepest parts and massaging his prostate. To keep Miguel somewhat grounded, you place a hand on his toned, slender waist. You also remind yourself to keep your gentle rhythm and concentrate on Miguel's pleasure, even though part of you wants to see the man who regularly spears you on his cock receive the same, deliciously rough treatment. But Miguel needs this moment of love and devotion, and you’ll do anything to remind your handsome man of your devotion to him and how proud you are of him.

“This tight hole was made for me, taking me so well,” You whisper, leaning over his wide, muscular back so that your honeyed praises still reach his fucked-out brain. “Mi niño bonito. You love my cock so much, huh, Mig?”

Miguel struggles to lift his head from his forearms, but he does so to look back at you, his handsome face covered in drool and tears as your sweet words and deep thrusts cause his eyes to roll back and he nods dumbly in response. You watch with awe and parted lips as Miguel’s hole pulses around you, causing the remnants of lube inside of him to bubble and ooze down his cheeks. It makes you giggle to see him approaching his climax once again, your hips rolling against him passionately as your hands wander across the glistening tan skin of his back, gliding your fingertips across his muscles and scars to worship his body as you make love to him.

His jaw goes slack as he moans and whines as you angle your sparkly strap-on to caress his sweet spot, the benevolence of your thrusts making him conflicted between crying and cumming. Against his own will, he chooses the latter.

Miguel desperately humps the ruffled sheets beneath him as he bucks his hips back and forth to encourage the depth of your movements, but the second your hands squeeze his waist to remind him to calm down and let you take care of him, he’s shooting thick, sticky ropes of his delicious cum into the puddle of his past loads accumulating beneath his abs, the sudden warmth against his bare skin making him whimper as his thick thighs shake and his back arches, subsequently making his ass press against the base of your strap-on.

“Sh-Shock’s sake…” Miguel pants, letting his head fall back down against his sturdy arms as you pull out of him, tapping his spasming hole with the tip of your silicone cock to beckon a few more moans from Miguel. “Gracias, mi reina. N-Needed that. Needed you to make me feel good.”

“Of course, baby. Anytime. I’m here for you.” You whisper, climbing off of Miguel and laying on your side next to him, the bedsheets squelching underneath you as Miguel’s cum spreads and darkens the material. The mess of juices was gonna be a bitch to clean up. But then again, so was the mess that is Miguel O’Hara.

I'm feeling evil and wanna post some miguel angst soon.

[dissipo]

nem todas as nossas vivências se dissipam da memória. você foi um sopro tão breve em minha existência fútil, mas que de certa forma, trouxe um leve arrepio, capaz de percorrer toda minha espinha. acho interessante a forma que breves passagens podem deixar mais resquícios do que aquelas cheias de pausas, idas, vindas e atritos. comigo aconteceu assim... de quem eu deveria lembrar, esqueci, mas mantive bem guardado quem eu deveria ter esquecido.

— dissipou-se

[peachy-skies-writings]

Bachelors - Farmer Coming Home Late from the Mines Headcanon

A/N: This was requested on my AO3 :) Hope you like!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

💚🏈 Alex 🏈💚

Alex would be quite concerned as the hours ticked by and you hadn’t returned home. He’d text you and if there was no response, he’d wait up.

If you came home injured, he’d grab his first aid kit out and patch you up. He’s pretty confident with first aid and patching you up thanks to Granny Evelyn helping him after his sports games. If it was super serious he’d call Harvey.

He wouldn’t be mad per se, but he’d be a little annoyed that you were out so late. If you were injured though, that would completely dissipate and he’d be hyper focused on tending to your wounds.

🧡📖 Elliott 📖🧡

Elliott would try to keep his mind off the late hour and your absence by writing or reading. His writing would be focused on worry or loneliness (secret emo).

If you were injured when you tumbled through the door, he’d instantly stop what he’d be doing and drag you to the clinic. If you resisted and said you were fine, he’d probably just attempt to carry you there until you gave up and went with him. 

Elliot wouldn’t be mad, he’d just be anxious that you weren’t home.

🤍🩺 Harvey 🩺🤍

Harvey would be very concerned that you’re not back. He’d pace back and forth in the farmhouse and basically wear a hole in the hardwood.

If you were injured, he’d instantly grab his medical supplies (he keeps them in the house ofc) and will stitch you up. If the injuries were more severe, he’d take you to the clinic (in a wheelbarrow if he had to).

Harvey would be mad if you were late home. He probably had dinner plans. He’d be less mad if you were injured, but he’d definitely scold you and remind you to take food and medical supplies if you go to the mine.

💙🎸Sam 🎸💙

Sam would be asleep on the couch when you come in. He’d tried to stay up but he’d had a pretty long day after he offered to do the farmwork for you while you’d ventured into the mine. He’d wake up when he hears you unlock the door and stumble in.

If you came home injured, he’d panic and run to get Harvey. For sure, he’d be like “I’m not enough of an adult for this. I need an adultier adult.”

Sam wouldn’t be mad at all, he’d be more upset with himself that he fell asleep before you got in. if you were injured he’d be super concerned but not mad at all.

💜🎮Sebastian 🎮💜

Sebastian is basically a night owl so he’d be awake and probably planning the next session of Solarion Chronicles. He’d be concerned when it got to about midnight, knowing that you were usually home. He’d keep planning but glance at the door and clock every now and again, growing increasingly concerned.

If you came back injured, Sebastian would grab the first aid kit from the bathroom. If the wounds were severed, he’d call Harvey or Robin to come help.

He wouldn’t be mad at all with you at all, he’d be relieved that you were home.

🖤🐓Shane 🐓🖤

Shane would stay up and wait for you to come in, more out of concern and wanting to check that you’re okay. He had a feeling that your lateness was due to something terrible.

If you were injured (his suspicions were correct), he’d patch you up as best he could if it was minor. He’d call Harvey if it was anything serious.

Shane wouldn’t be mad that you were late, he’d be super anxious and worried about you more than anything else.

[undiscovered-horizon]

(tw for mentions of nudity)

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[After days of travelling, fighting and sleeping on rocks, a rest at a tavern is well-earned. Not feeling up to taste the nightlife with your friends, Gale and you retire early. The evening turns into something heartfelt and domestic as you wash his hair and hum a song he's grown all too familiar with.]

As much as Gale loves to be in the centre of your attention, it flusters him. He's grown so used to being the one doting and worshipping that he's quite unsure what to do once the roles are reversed. Is he supposed to gratefully acknowledge your efforts? Or sit twiddling his thumbs, taking whatever you give him?

How does one take affection?, he wonders in the back of his head.

The party downstairs is virtually inaudible to Gale as his mind is focused solely on the tender caress of your hands. The soap suds feel as though they transcend his skin and wash his very spirit clean. Or perhaps that's just what being loved feels like. His back is leisurely leaning against your chest. In some distant fantasy of his, you are reborn as his guardian angel.

I sowed rue in four little gardens In the fifth, I sowed periwinkle for you, Johnny

Your low singing is ringing in his ears the same way the church bell's toll is ringing in the ears of a saint - calling towards home. Gale shivers as your breath, like a ghost of love once cherished, brushes against his hot skin. The soothing sound of your voice is all too fleeting to him. If he could only grab it and bask in it any time he wishes to. Perhaps, if your place was among the stars in the night sky...?

Rue, my rue, I sowed you in the early morning I sowed you happily; grow tall, rue

He sighs, feeling your fingers tug gently at his hair. Whether you're washing it or rinsing, he's not entirely sure. The moment your fingers dragged against his skin, your nails scratched at his scalp, Gale allowed himself to drift into a comfortable limbo - somewhere between sleep and wake, between dream and reality. It is only by the melody of this song you so often sing to yourself that he can be sure he is alive and well. Otherwise, given the inexplicable lightness of his spirit, Gale might have thought he'd died and gone to wherever he deserved to spend his afterlife.

I sowed you, rue, in a wide bed I thought to myself that Johnny might come

Speaking of death: as the saying goes, 'curiosity killed the cat' and Gale, by his nature, can not help himself but die again and again.

"Not that I don't enjoy your little habit," he breaks the silence in a groggy, sleepy voice, "it's quite adorable if I may say so, but do indulge me: what is this song you're singing? I've never heard it before."

"It's a wedding song," you murmur your answer. Gale's breath hitches as he feels your lips stroke the conch of his ear. "In my hometown, there's this tradition of making newlyweds wade through the dancing guests to reach each other. If they manage to hold hands before the song ends, the Gods bless them and they shall be inseparable from that day on. It's weird how..." you hang your voice and sigh heavily, "no matter."

But Gale is quick to dismiss your silly belief that there is something uninteresting about your thoughts. "Whatever is on your mind, I long to hear it." The pleasing tone of his voice is more meaningful than the wizard's actual words.

For a moment, your careful movements come to a halt. He could, of course, protest the sudden lack of soft tugging at his hair or the pleasant scratching of his scalp but all complaints dissipate as Gale feels you resting your chin on top of his shoulder. "When I was younger, just a filly, I thought about the day I would get to nudge my way through the guests," you recall with both sadness and fondness in your voice, "but now I worry whether I will get to see the break of dawn. Odd how life can get."

He wishes to say something suave, to weave sultry words with skill comparable to Astarion's. Alas, he's too overly aware of your naked form glued to his back and your arms casually wrapped around his stomach. Yet again, Gale is flustered. "Oh, I'm no stranger to twisted and, frankly unfathomable, paths of life," he says, feigning glibness. "Having said that, you've managed to survive things most can't even dream of. If I were you, I wouldn't cross a wedding game off the list just yet."

No answer comes from you - at least not a vocal answer. You place a soft peck on top of his shoulder before going back to washing his hair and relishing in the song that reminds you of home.

The rue is withered but Johnny's not here When Sunday comes, I will be dressing up

Considering he has enough explosive energy inside him to level a city, wading through the mob of wedding guests shouldn't be a challenge. Although, if Karlach and Lae'zel are also invited...

But the doubt in Gale's mind doesn't let such fantasies go too far. First of all, would you even want to? Would you actually stand before him and proclaim to the entire world that you will love him for better or worse? As much as he believes you every time you profess your love to him, the longer he wonders about the proverbial 'until death do us part', the more he grows unsure. Because, honestly, out of all the people you've met on your travels, why would it be him? The man who famously makes bad decisions in the name of love?

Rue, my rue, grow green, rue I will cut you on an early Sunday morning

The thing that happens then leaves Gale even more confused about his own feelings and the matter of accepting affection:

You've finished washing his hair, taking your sweet time admiring the streaks of grey. Leaning back, you gently pull him along. His head falls back into the crook of your neck. If Gale had just slightly less self-control, he would have squealed when you kissed his neck and tightened your embrace around his midsection. You're holding him like a toddler holds their favourite stuffed toy and it's... nice.

Thinking about your trapping hug, Gale suddenly remembers something he wanted to share. "Did you know that a periwinkle is also called a Vinca, which means 'to bind'?"

A light-hearted chuckle rumbles in your chest. "Then I better sow a garden full of them for you."

_____

Halsin's version right here!!

(tagging those who shouted, y'all are the pillars of society: @cakenpiewhyohmy @hairlessgoblin @lillithhearts @day-dreaming-goddess @nico-ith @cakeboxie )

Your prayers have been heard!!!! (As though I didn't start writing this immediately after posting Halsin's version)

Changed the song at the last second because my former choice was a little too upbeat for the setting ("Jeleń" by Sutari, if y'all are curious)

[omeninodooutrolado]

E pra ser sincero: esses dias não estou confiando nem em mim.

Esses dias, tenho sentido que não consigo confiar nem em mim mesmo. A segurança interna que eu costumava ter se dissipou, deixando apenas uma sensação constante de dúvida. As decisões que antes pareciam claras agora estão envoltas de incerteza, e até minhas emoções, que costumavam ser meu guia, parecem estar confusas.

Toda essa desconfiança afeta tudo ao meu redor. De repente, as coisas mais simples se tornam complicadas. Questiono minhas escolhas, minhas palavras, até o que realmente sinto. E é como se, em algum ponto, tivesse perdido o fio condutor que me guiava. Fico buscando respostas dentro de mim, mas tudo o que encontro são mais perguntas.

Talvez seja porque o mundo lá fora está tão instável que isso acaba refletindo aqui dentro. Quando tudo à volta parece incerto, é natural questionar se está tomando as decisões corretas, ou até se é capaz de seguir adiante. O mais desafiador é quando essa dúvida se volta para dentro, corroendo a confiança pessoal que, em outros momentos, era tão forte.

Nesses dias, confiar em mim parece uma tarefa impossível. Perco nas minhas próprias reflexões, como se cada passo que eu desse fosse acompanhado de uma sombra de hesitação. E, no fundo, a maior frustração talvez seja não saber como encontrar de novo aquela voz interior, aquela certeza que, por mais tênue que fosse, ainda me dava uma direção.

— escrito por O Menino do Outro Lado

[supernatural-bias]

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: scout, soldier, medic, and spy

↳ warnings: mentions of surgery and alcohol

↳ song: runaround sue—dion

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐭

• He’s such a doofus. It takes him at least a month to pick up on it

• The entire time you’re flirting or making moves on him, he’ll jokingly reciprocate it under the impression that you’re just joshing around

• It takes one of the other team members approaching him for the mercenary to realize what was actually going on

• “Son.” Engineer had sighed as he stood in the doorway to Scout’s very messy room, “You do realize they like you?”

• Scout’s very dismissive and red faced about it

• “What? Psh. Stop messing with me, Engie. Don't you have sentries to build or somethin’?”

• The second Engineer leaves, he’s practically tearing up his room in a tirade of emotions

• Overthinks the past few months with you way too much. Practically wears a spot into the floor from all the nervous pacing he does

• In the end, Scout confronts you to ask you out

• Tries to be formal, but we all saw how that turned out with Miss Pauling. Eventually just gives up on trying to be suave— and not succeeding —to blurt out what he’s thinking

• “So, uh, yeah. I’m not so. Er. Good at this sappy stuff, but there’s a Tom Jones museum I think we could go check out. Together.” Scout pauses, accent only getting thicker with worry, “Alone. Y’know?”

• Over the moon when you say yes. All nerves dissipate and are immediately replaced with a cross between a smug and relieved victory

• If you look close enough at his ears, they’re a little pink

𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫

• If he hasn’t known you for long, Soldier will actually just chalk your actions up to being a communist spy

• A very exasperated Demoman had to get Miss Pauling to bring in heavily classified paperwork on you just to prove to him you weren’t a commie

• “Very well maggot! I’ll believe you— for now! Sleep with one eye open!” Soldier had barked, slamming down your file on the dining room table as a tired Pauling watched. You noted that the papers were upside down, and you doubt he even read them. Or that he could read

• He’s very blunt with everything. Words, actions, emotions, etc. Doesn’t understand why other people can’t just do the same. It would make conversation so much easier to him

• So he’s not oblivious to your attention per se. Just very curious, I suppose

• It takes maybe less than two weeks after the Communist Incident, as Demo had dubbed it, for him to corner you

• “Maggot! Do you find me attractive?” He demanded

• You’d been eating breakfast at the time, and almost choked to death on your laughter at the question

• “Short answer, yes.” You gasped through wheezy laughter, the volume only increasing at the frown on Soldiers face. “Follow up question; is that really how you just asked if I had a crush on you?”

• Nods and booms back that he thinks you’re also easy on the eyes. Proposes the idea of doing a training course with you sometime. Breaks out into a crooked grin when you accept

• “Excellent! I expect you up at oh five hundred for the course tomorrow!” He saluted you, which was Soldier equivalent to a bone crushing hug of respect

• You returned it, and missed the way his eyes crinkled with happiness behind the brim of his helmet

𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜

• Always so consumed in his work that he probably just ends up finding out from Archemedies

• The birds had always been allowed to rest on your shoulder while he performed risqué experiments on you, acting as a distraction from the feeling of someone sifting around in your guts

• I guess the dove had picked up on one too many looks you’d tossed the ex-doctors way

• To this day, no one can understand how the two of them can communicate, but one thing leads to another and suddenly Medic is looming in your doorframe silently

• “What’s up, doc?” You’d greeted him with a Bug’s Bunny quote and a grin. Medics lips only twitched up slightly as he pushed his glasses back up the brim of his nose

• “A little bird told me zhat someone has a crush, ja?” He barreled right into the topic, leaving no room for you to prepare for the sudden accusation. Medics scrutinizing gaze didn’t miss the way your eyes glanced in the direction of his lab, no doubt silently cursing Archemedies

• “No need to fear, freund.” He unclasped his gloved hands from behind his back and approached you. “I simply am here to offer you a deal.”

• Turns out the deal was a chance talk over cheap beer in his office. Pretty rare, considering how much of his time Medic chose to dedicate to work

• “I’ll take it.” You shook his hand, briefly noting how large it seemed even when compared to you

• “Vunderbar, mein schatz.” Medic smiled gently, leaving you to wonder what he had just said

𝐒𝐩𝐲

• There is no hiding when it comes to this French fuck

• Spy immediately picks up on every glance. Every chance of avoided eye contact and unnecessary clearing of a throat

• Suddenly he seems to be a lot more talkative towards you than normal. Hanging out by your side at gatherings rather than a dark corner with cigarette smoke curling around his head

• Fleeting touches slowly begin to sprinkle themselves in between conversation. A hand on the shoulder here, and a brief touch to the pulse point there

• The first time he did the latter, he noticed how fast your heart was beating and couldn’t stop himself from letting out a slight chuckle

• If he was nicer, Spy would definitely take action and approach your first. In fact, sometimes he almost finds himself wanting to

• But the man knows how people work. If you truly wanted to pursue him, you would come around eventually. No point in making rash decisions. He was a patient man, after all

• A small part of his ego preened at the thought of making you work for it

• And come around you did eventually did

• Finds himself opening the door to his smoking room one late night only to be met with the image of a very frazzled looking you

• You rush out something about a date too fast for his ears to catch. Spy is simply too busy letting his eyes roam over your casual cloathing and slight fidgeting. The crooning of an old French record plays from behind him as he blinks down at you

• “Would you like to come in?” He finally sighs out, opening the door a little wider in the form of an invitation

• By the time you manage to get inside, you notice he already had a wine glass set out for you

[coovieilledentelle]

Malheureusement, tôt ou tard, tout peut finir : la passion peut se transformer en cendres en un instant, l'amour apparemment éternel en une « erreur », une « habitude » ou un « souvenir ». les amitiés à long terme sont souvent brisées par des absurdités. les priorités sont révisées, la patience s'épuise, les illusions se dissipent, nous changeons. Et la plus grande erreur est de penser que ce que vous ressentez maintenant est éternel.